


(Un)Conditional

by archipelago



Category: August: Osage County (2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, TW: Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archipelago/pseuds/archipelago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Charles and Ivy go on their trip to New York, exactly as planned.</p><p>Well, maybe not exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Un)Conditional

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: this story deals with the aftermath of the film/play 'August: Osage County' for Little Charles and Ivy and therefore includes incest. One character is not aware, the other is. Please don't read if that squicks you ought.
> 
> Hell, it squicks me out, and I wrote it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own 'August: Osage County' (the play OR the film).

When Ivy gets home, she puts her car in park and then rests her forehead against the steering wheel to have a good cry. It’s too hot to stay out here, she knows, but even as the air heats up around her and her sweat beads across her hairline, she stays put. She needs to get this out of her system. If she goes inside now, she’ll cry and maybe have a drink and then look at her phone and do something stupid.

Like call Charles. Like cancel the move to New York.

And that _would_ be stupid, she tells herself as she wipes at her eyes. No matter what Mama and Barbara said, Charles isn’t her brother. Maybe—maybe by blood, if their story is to be believed, but he wasn’t raised that way. Besides, most of the stigma surrounding incestual relationships (she cringes to think the word, then tells herself to stop, stop, _stop_ ) comes from the risk to children borne from those unions.

She and Charles won’t ever have kids. It’s impossible, thanks to the cancer.

He doesn’t know, of course, and Ivy resolves right then and there, with her forehead sticking to the leather of her steering wheel, that she won’t tell him. It would be cruel, not only because of what they’ve come to mean to each other, but also because Charles adores his father. Uncle Charles has always been so good and kind to him, and there’s no way she’ll take that relationship away from _her_ Charles, none whatsoever.

Resolve forms in her gut. It’s a service to him, really, to keep this secret. Charles preserves the sole healthy relationship he has within their family, and they get to be together. Not just together, but together in New York. Starting over, starting fresh.

And there won’t be any children and no one will ever ask questions because they have different last names, and if she never talks to Mama, or Barbara, or Karen again then—well, that’s hardly some great tragedy, is it?

It’s the right choice. She sits up straight and lets out a shaky breath, scrubbing tears away from her cheeks. When she glances in her rearview mirror, she looks relatively normal. A little flushed, maybe, and her eyes are a bit too bright, but anyone looking at her at a glance wouldn’t notice a difference from her usual demeanor.

She doesn’t have any makeup to fix because she doesn’t wear makeup. Fuck Mama, and fuck Elizabeth Taylor, too.

\--

“I’ve never been on a plane before,” Charles says once they’re side by side in their seats. He doesn’t have to tell her. They’ve known each other their whole lives; he’s barely left the state, let alone gone to an airport.

It doesn’t seem kind to point that out, though. She smiles at him, and in return he puts his hand over hers on the arm rest and twines their fingers together. It’s more difficult than it should be for the smile to stay in place, for her to not jerk her arm away. 

Ivy clears her throat. “What do you want to do first when we get to New York?”

“Well, I suppose we ought to check in at the hotel first,” he says, leaning back into the seat. He’s a bit too tall to be comfortable in the tiny seats in coach, but they couldn’t afford first class. “But then—would you mind if we went to see the Statue of Liberty straight away? I’ve always wanted to, but I never really thought I’d have the chance.”

He’s all lit up like Christmas, and it’s impossible not to love him when he’s like this. He’s so simple, her Charles. Not stupid, no, never that. Mattie Fae always said that, even when he just a boy, but Mattie Fae is cruel and mean and petty and a liar. Charles isn’t dumb, he just thinks at his own pace. While everyone else is rushing ahead trying to do more and more and more in less time, Charles ambles along at his own speed. That doesn’t mean he never makes it to the finish line. He’s never in a hurry, never pushy or demanding. His happiness is so often contingent upon everyone else’s. He’s the best listener Ivy has ever met.

The love in her chest boils over, and suddenly she thinks she might cry. She blinks hard against her wet eyes. Charles’ face falls and he reaches out to cup her cheek. “We don’t have to, of course! Whatever you want to do, that’s what I want to do.”

“It’s not that,” she says, leaning into his touch and trying not to feel guilty about it. “I just—I really love you, Charles.”

He smiles bright and shiny and she thinks, how could this ever be wrong?

“I love you, too,” he tells her. He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for getting me out of that place. I wouldn’t be doing this without you, you know.”

She knows it’s true, but she says, “Of course you would.”

\--

Charles spends the rest of the flight clutching his arm rests and sending terrified looks out the window.

“We’re above the clouds,” he says, his tone somewhere between mystified and panicked.

She presses a kiss against his shoulder and then leaves her cheek there.

\--

The hotel is a piece of shit, run down and roach-infested. It’s not even in New York state, technically, sitting just below the state lines in New Jersey, but Charles assures her that it’s a short bus ride into the city.

When Charles checks them in, he references a reservation made under “Mr. and Mrs. Aiken.”

Ivy swallows the lump in her throat and leans a bit into his arm. His hands is dry around hers; he is calm, confident. He’s the happiest she’s ever seen him, and she loves him, and they’re going to go to the Statue of Liberty and have fun like a normal couple.

Because that’s what they are. Or, at least, as far as Charles knows. And she can pretend until she feels that way again. She can do that for him. He deserves it.

They dump their things in their room on the third floor. On their way out, Charles presses her against the door and kisses her, long and deep, and except for the guilt gnawing at her soul, it feels every bit as good as it ever has.

\--

The “short” bus ride takes closer to an hour and a half, and even then they have to catch a connecting bus to get to the Statue of Liberty. Charles apologizes again and again.

“I looked it up on a map,” he says, hands clutching at his knees. “I’m real sorry, Ivy, I swear I thought we were closer.”

“It’s fine. Really, it is. I’m not mad.” She runs a soothing hand down his arm.

He bites his lip. “You sure?”

She is sure. Charles couldn’t have known what the public transportation was like—it’s not like there’s an abundant amount of buses rolling around in the prairie, what with there being no place to _go_. Plus, taking the bus is cheaper until they find a place of their own in the city. She’ll need to look into how her teaching license transfers so they can start earning _something_ \--but they have time. She’s been saving, and he’s done what he can.

If she said one sour word about the hotel, Charles would book her another in a second. Charles would find the fanciest hotel in New York City and call to inquire about their rooms. There is no limit to what Charles would do for her, and she knows that.

“One day, I’m going to slap your mama for convincing you that you’re some sort of screw up,” she tells him, her tone fierce as her hand tightens around his. “You’re not. You’re wonderful.”

He gives her the same look he gave the clouds while they were on the plane. He flushes a bit, says, “I don’t know what I did to deserve something this good.”

“I wish I could give you something even better.”

“Ain’t nothing better, not in the whole world.”

But there is, she thinks.

\--

The Statue of Liberty towers over them in all her glory. Charles shades his eyes with his hand as he looks up toward the top, gaping.

“What do you think?” Ivy asks, nudging him with an elbow.

He drops his hand. When he looks down at her, he is grinning. “I think she’s the second prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.”

\--

They find a McDonalds and eat dinner there because they’re both too intimidated by the fancy looking restaurants to actually go in.

\--

They miss the connecting bus they need and end up in the wrong place after dark. Ivy goes into a 7 Eleven to ask for directions; the man behind the counter looks at her like she’s insane when she tells him where they are trying to go. Eventually, he pulls out his phone and tells them the correct route number.

When they finally get on the right bus, it’s nearly midnight. Charles spends a good half hour apologizing for getting them lost, and when she finally reassures him that it’s just as much her fault, he falls asleep with his head on her shoulder. His hair is a bit greasy from traveling, and it hangs in curls against her shoulder.

She presses her nose into his scalp, tries to think of the words that will finally convince him that she loves him utterly, completely. Maybe Mattie Fae has driven it too far into his head that he’ll never hear be worthy of that kind of love, that it’s impossible for him, but if that’s the case, then Ivy wants to spend the rest of her life proving Mattie Fae wrong.

He huffs against her shoulder, stirring. “Ivy…?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to sleep? I can wake up, let you get some rest.”

She smiles against his hair. “That would be nice.”

He sits up, stretching and giving a great yawn. He rearranges himself so that he’s sitting upright, and then wraps an arm around her left shoulder, drawing her into his side.

“You just go to sleep,” he says, “and I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“You remember our stop?”

He nods, so she settles in and is out like a light in a minute flat.

\--

True to his word, Charles wakes her up at just the right stop. Screw up, indeed.

\--

They’re both so overtired that it makes them giddy, restless. His hand is tight around hers all the through the lobby and in the elevator and down the third floor hallway as they try to stifle their laughter out of respect for the other patrons. Charles swipes the keycard the wrong way three times, which Ivy finds hilarious, and they both stumble into their room when the door finally gives way.

He descends upon her as soon as the door closes behind them, mouth hot and messy and oh-so-satisfying. She tries to toe off her shoes as he steers her backward toward the bed, but she trips on the back of one of her own heels and they end up laughing into each other’s mouths.

“Need some help?” he asks, and she swats at his side, kicking the offending shoes off her feet and out of the way. He starts to work on his own buttons, and just as his shirt slides off, she remembers yesterday morning, with Mama and Barbara and the fish and she doesn’t want to think about that, not now, so she stops.

Charles notices and pauses, as well. “Ivy?”

“I just,” she stumbles over her words and smooths her hands over her rucked up t-shirt. “It’s weird, I just all of a sudden have this stabbing pain.”

He is instantly closer, his expression serious as he touches her arm. It’s a good touch, a neutral touch. She presses a hand against her forehead.

“You have a headache?” Charles asks. His brow is creased in concerned; he absolutely believes her. He has no reason not to, she realizes. “I don’t have any medicine, but let me call down to the front desk and ask them if they have some Tylenol, or something.”

“Charles, no. It’s…it’s fine. I think I just need to sleep.”

“Sudden onset like that, sounds like a migraine. You’ll need more than sleep,” he says, wisely.

She shakes her head. The tears threaten again, not so much fully formed as hiding behind her eyeballs, waiting for their opportunity to appear. She fights against them; she can’t let Charles see this because he’ll want to know more, he’ll want to understand, and she can’t deny him anything. She’s never been able to.

“Can we just lie down? Together?” Her voice sounds weak and pathetic, even to her.

He reaches up and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Of course we can, if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want, Ivy, you know that.”

She nods. It feels like something is breaking inside of her and she’s not sure what. “I do.”

\--

When she wakes up the next morning, Charles is cuddled up behind her, his right arm curling over her body, their hands entwined. It feels good and right and wonderful and wholly unfair.

“Morning,” he rumbles, his voice sending a spark down her spine. He places a kiss on the back of her neck. “How you feeling?”

She sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Fine, I think. I just needed some sleep, I guess. We had a long day yesterday.”

He nods and moves closer to her. She can feel every inch of his body behind her; he’s hard. It could just be that it’s the morning, she reasons, but then he places another kiss on her neck, and another.

“Do you—I mean,” he barely manages the words between his kisses. “If you’d like, we could keep going the way we were last night.” He stops kissing and pulls away, allowing her to flip over to face him. His face is open, vulnerable; he wants her, he always wants her, but he’ll never push her.

She should be grateful, she knows. Charles is kind and considerate. He dotes upon her, loves her unconditionally.

Well, maybe. He’s not really aware of all the conditions.

She swallows the words in her throat and instead nods her head, managing a small smile. “I’d like that.”

He grins. Two big hands circle her waist, draw her near so that she can feel the hard outline of his cock against her. She swings a leg over his thigh, positioning them together, and he groans, pressing his forehead into her neck.

It feels good, yes, but it also doesn’t. With his face away from hers, she takes a moment to quietly panic and then resolve herself to this. They’ve done it before; it’s not as though she’s unaware of his body, or he of hers. This is nothing new, nothing strange, and if it feels that way now, she only needs to get through it once and then it won’t anymore.

Because this is Charles, Charles who loves her more than anything, who adores her, and who she adores. She’s spent the past year secretly in love with him, and it doesn’t have to be a secret here, not in New York. At least, he won’t know any secrets.

She just has to do it once, remember how much she loves this, loves him, and then everything will be fine.

His fingertips skim up her sides, reaching to cups her breasts over the flimsy material of her t-shirt. His hands arm big and warm, and this still feels good, despite everything. Ivy lets out a huffy little breath, and he reaches around to squeeze her ass. He dips his hand into the back of her panties, sliding them down.

God, it feels good. She moves to help him with her clothes, and then they go to work on his. Their movements are suddenly hurried, frenzied—she doesn’t even have to touch his cock before he’s lining up at her entrance, and she’s spreading her legs, head thrown back.

“Ivy,” he says her name like a prayer, pants it between his breaths as he hovers above her. “I love you so much, Ivy.”

She goes still just as he begins to push forward. She can’t breathe, she can’t move. She chokes on the first inhale she manages, which makes him pause.

“Ivy?” he stops, pushes up to his knees on either side of her legs. “Why are you crying?”

She hadn’t even known that she was.

The words are gravel in her throat.

“Charles, there’s something I need to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the truth: I didn't even particularly like this film. It was a little too dark for me to laugh at, and it ended up feeling bleak and hopeless. That said, once I left the theater, i couldn't stop thinking about Ivy insisting that she would still go to New York with Little Charles, and how not good that would be.
> 
> Little Charles and Ivy had the one completely happy scene in the film (which was promptly ruined, ugh). I literally gasped when the reveal came around. This is just how I imagine the next part of the story would go, for these two characters.
> 
> Did not have a beta. Let me know if you see any errors.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
